Like Absinthe
by Pluma Desatada
Summary: Lukas Frode is just a regular guy—no, really—trying to make a living. He owns a bar—well, the mafia owns it, they just lend it to him—and his life is pretty normal, for certain values of normal. Until Tony Stark comes into his bar, looking for a good drink and a good fuck. :: FROSTIRON ::
1. You'll make me go mad

**Title:** Like Absinthe (You'll make me go mad)

**Rating**: M. I'm NOT gonna get banned for this, so I edited the sexy bits out. Now the rating _should be _merely an M, but a couple sentences might hace escaped me here and there. I trust you will tell me if you find them.

**Length: **For this site: 7.7k (Un-cut version, a whoopin' 13k.)

**Pairing:** Frostiron a.k.a. Loki/Tony Stark

**Warnings: **None. If this was the whole thing I would say "sit on a towel", but meh, 'tis not!

**A/N: **This is the result of four days of filthy, filthy roleplay over Omegle with Jessica ( anata-no-warumono *dot* tumblr *dot* com), who is an amazing Tony. After two days of editing on my part, it somehow grew from 9k to 12k. Yeah, baffles me too. Since doesn't want explicit sexytiems, and I can get behind that, I edited the pr0n out.

**Summary: **Lukas Frode is just a _regular_ guy—no, really—trying to make a living. He owns a bar—well, the mafia owns it, they just lend it to him—and his life is pretty normal, for certain values of normal.

Until Tony Stark comes into his bar, looking for a good drink and a good fuck.

**Read the full version at AO3** ( archive of our own *dot* org *slash* works *slash* 473797) **or at my Tumblr** (plumadesatada *dot* tumblr *dot* com *slash* post *slash* 28431636992)

* * *

**Like Absinthe (You'll make me go mad)**

**by Pluma Desatada and anata-no-warumono**

* * *

It was a fucking cold winter this year and Tony Stark was shivering. His mood was in the dumps, what with the damned new project driving him crazy and his recent inability to sleep properly, and the sub-zero temperatures did _not_ help. '_A good drink and a good fuck, however, would be just what the doctor ordered'_, he thought as he picked a bar at random.

Well, to be honest, not entirely random. No sleazy dive bars for Tony Stark, no sir. He'd asked Jarvis to make him a list of some nice, trendy places that looked classy enough for a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist like himself, and now he used his trusty eenie-meenie-miney-moe method. His finger landed on a place called Ice and Fire, a relatively new hotspot in town. He seemed to recall hearing about the place from some chicks at the last charity gala Pepper had forced him to go to. Sounded nice.

So he drove there and parked his car. By himself, because there was no valet parking. Hm. He was starting to reconsider. Well, he could always leave if he didn't like the place. But it looked nice, from what little he could see from outside. Ritzy, yet cozy. He went inside (double doors, _nice_) and sat at the bar. He took off his scarf and overcoat and piled them onto the empty barstool beside him, sighing with relief at the warm atmosphere. Then he ordered a stiff drink before turning around, his elbows resting on the bar, and examined the crowd for prey.

* * *

Lukas Frode—or Lucky Luke, depending on what circles the person speaking about him frequented—was the barkeeper that night. He was also the current owner of Ice and Fire.

Only, not really. Sure, the name was on the title was his, but this establishment had been lent to him by Joel Cacace in payment for _engineering_ and _carrying out _a _transaction_ for the Colombo family. Luke had needed the bar to arrange it, and he'd done such a great job that consigliere Cacace had graciously allowed him to keep it and call it his in exchange for future _favors_.

Luke was now, for the foreseeable future, owner of the bar. His asshole of a so-called father had always told him he had been born to be king, and so he was: king of being discreet, king of enabling and moderating incredible volatile meetings and, right this very second, king of mixing drinks. His normal bartender was sick – such was the fragile nature humans, especially in winter. Luke had learnt his own lesson in fragility during his first winter in this city by spending a week in bed, flying from a fever for the first time in his life.

On the corner of his eye, he spied Anthony Stark, the infamous Iron Man, coming into his very trendy, very ritzy establishment. Luke surreptitiously checked his appearance in the mirror behind himself – longish red hair, blue eyes, white button up shirt, black dress pants, waistcoat and bowtie. He was disguised well enough; the last time Stark had seen him his hair had been black, his eyes absinthe green and his clothes leather and metal.

He finished polishing the mahogany bar top and put away the wet rag, just in time for Stark to sit on a stool and order whiskey on the rocks. Luke served it to him. He could tell the man's mind was elsewhere and, wanting him out of here as fast as possible, leant on the bar and considered his other patrons.

"The lady in red over there likes Appletinis," he suggested offhandedly. The bird in question was shapely enough, and her hair was a shade of blonde that usually indicated low intelligence and easy access. "Shall I make her one and tell her it's from you?"

* * *

Tony scoffed and raised an eyebrow, not deigning to look at the meddlesome bartender. How dared this man give him, _Tony Stark _of all people, advice on how to get chicks? Seriously, must be a joke.

Keeping his body in the same position, he turned only his head and fixed the man with a stare over his shoulder, intending to say something biting and cruel. He abandoned the idea as soon as his brown eyes met blue ones. '_Dayum', _he thought, dragging out the syllable in his head in admiration. That young man was one incredibly good looking and attractive specimen of the male gender.

Now, as a general rule, men were not Tony Stark's thing, but this one was different. It was like he had an aura or something, a _je ne se quoi_, that drove Tony unable to keep his eyes off him. And then he remembered: he was bored and alone. '_Let's play,_' he thought, licking his lips as he turned around in the stool.

"Oh, really? And what about you? What do _you _like?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"I like motorcycles," Luke lied curtly without looking at Stark, purposely misunderstanding the question. Figures. The one time he decides to be _kind_ and help someone get laid out of the _goodness of his heart_, they turn their attentions towards _him_.

Tony chuckled and massaged his nape. Okay, a rude case; great, actually. Those were his favorite; the play-hard-to-get were always fulfilling when he won them over. He smiled like a shark. "I have lots of great motorcycles, I like them too, honestly. Do you have one yourself?" he asked.

"A nice BMW. Modified it myself. Runs like a dream." Luke answered. He didn't really have the motorcycle; it had been belonged to Jimmy, his ex, from the beginning, and Luke had broken up with him as soon as he'd finished conning the bar from his uncle. Luke drove a beat-up Volkswagen Beetle now. "Want more whiskey?"

Tony nodded. "Please." He rubbed his bearded chin, still staring at the beautiful young man. Oh yeah, he wanted this one now, especially because he had that _accent_. He couldn't place it—it sounded British, but not _quite_—but he wanted to hear it. Specifically, he wanted to hear this man moan his name and beg Tony for release in it. "That's great," he replied, turning the charm up to the max. "Customized motorcycles are the best. Can you show me it? I'd love to see it."

Luke grimaced, thanking the Norns he was looking away, looking for the bottle of scotch. "I left it home," he invented, pouring Stark another glass, "it's too precious to bring it here at this time of the night. This is still New York, even if the neighbourhood is nice." Then he froze as he put the bottle back, eyes widening minutely, when he realized he'd made a huge mistake.

He had just practically invited Stark to follow him home.

And Stark pounced on the chance like the predator he was. "I have lots of free time," he commented idly, taking a sip. "I'm a free worker, my own boss and all that, so _maybe,_" he looked at the bartender suggestively, trailing a finger on the rim of his glass, "I can wait for you to finish your shift and you can show it to me at your home?" He stared into the pretty blue eyes, wondering if he was having any impact on him.

Luke ran the scenarios through his head, buying time by humming pensively as he polished a couple glasses with a clean rag.

**Cons:**  
+ This was Stark. He might recognize Luke at some point.  
+ It would mean closing the bar early.  
+ It was STARK. Who knew where his dick had been?

**Pros: **  
+ Luke hadn't had sex since Jimmy.  
+ Sex with Stark was bound to be good.  
+ Playing hard to get would only make Stark focus all the more on him. If Luke sleeps with him now, he can get rid of him faster.  
+ It was Stark, one of the avengers. If he ever found out with whom he'd slept, the results would be _hilarious_.

Luke decided it was a go. "I'm my own boss too, actually," he said, forcing warmth he wasn't feeling into his voice. "I'll close early, around 11. Okay with you?"

Another great victory for Tony Stark, hurray for Iron Man! '_And the crowd goes wild!_' Tony thought, cheering for himself in his head. _Finally_ his day was looking brighter, this was going to be _awesome_! He had had sex with a select few guys in his life; they had been _so_ tight and playful, and this one was _so_ beautiful... Yep, a great night was in store for him. He smiled brilliantly as he took another sip of his drink. "Okay, sounds like a plan, I'll wait for you in a booth. By the way, call me Tony, and you are?"

Luke thought about giving him a fake(er) name, and decided against it. Tony Stark was resourceful, and he could find his current fake identity very easily. "Lukas," he answered with a small, calculated smile, "but everyone calls me Luke."

Tony massaged his jaw and nodded. "Lukas," he said, rolling the name on his tongue, "fits you. I like it, Luke." He grinned seductively. "I hope your girlfriend won't be mad at you when you get home late with me."

Luke saw that for what it was – a veiled question about whether or not was with someone. "No, it's _boyfriend_, actually," he lied through his teeth. "And he's busy working at 1OAK tonight, don't worry," he winked, serving the annoyance another measure of scotch. "On the house."

"Really? Thanks. A boyfriend, that's cool... So you are a modern boy from living in our modern world, cool, cool," he said dismissively with another grin, just hoping this new information wouldn't present an obstacle in his one-night-stand plans. "Is he a bartender too?"

Jimmy, as a bartender? Luke scoffed. He'd crush the bottles every time he was asked to fix a drink. "No, he's the bouncer," he told Stark with saucy wink, and went to serve the girls who had just come in and were clamoring for his attention.

* * *

Luke finished chasing the protesting patrons out—a couple had been in the middle of a drug deal, and Luke had to wait for them or lose his cut of the profit—and went back behind the bar to clean everything up and close the register. Math was miraculously perfect on the first try the way it never was on a usual day when he was desperate to go home. Typical. Now he had no further excuses to keep ignoring Stark, who was staring fixedly at him from a table in a way that only slightly more subtle than if he had been holding up a sign reading '_Can we go and fuck already?_'.

Luke turned off the lights, armed the alarm, grabbed his coat and his keys and forced a smile. "Shall we?"

Tony smiled and nodded. He was a bit—but only _a tiny bit_—tipsy because of too much scotch. "Yep, I'm following you, gorgeous." He smiled and stood up with some difficulty, getting his coat and scarf on, and then walked his fuck-for-one-night out of the bar. '_Keep a cool mind, serious business incoming,_' he told himself. No way so little alcohol like this would lower his performance level. Tonight, he'd make the little ginger beg for mercy.

Luke went straight to the only car on the parking lot that looked expensive enough to be Stark's: a beautiful, sleek convertible. Stark had great taste in cars, that he'd admit freely. "Keys," he called to the intoxicated man in a no-nonsense voice.

"What keys? I'm clean, I'll drive," he took his keys in hand and unlocked the car remotely, "nobody will never drive my super baby but me."

Luke arched a brow. '_Is that so?'_ He was _not_ getting in a metal death trap driven by a drunk. "Forget your _super baby_, then. Let's take a cab."

"No way!" the billionaire scoffed. "Tony Stark, in a cab? I'd rather die," he exclaimed loudly and tossed the key to Luke. "And you be kind with her," he pointed at his eyes and then at Luke in an I'm-watching-you gesture. He then got into the passenger seat and tapping his fingers against the dashboard.

"I know how to treat a lady, Tony," Luke grumbled as he got in the car and buckled himself in. It was manual transmission, which was great; he loved manuals. And the seats were all soft and pliable leather. When he started the engine, it purred like a cat being stroked. '_I really have to ditch the bug for one of these_,' he thought admiringly. "Gorgeous car," he praised.

The billionaire smiled, pretty proud to be honest, and he put a light hand on Luke's fingers where they wrapped around the gear stick. "Can you feel it?" he muttered, "she already loves you, she's asking you to stroke her." He helped Luke move the stick.

Luke could indeed feel the soft vibrations under his hand as he drove. The wheel was _so_ responsive he barely had to make a gesture and the car practically read his mind. He snuck sideway glances at Tony every once in a while, enjoying, now, the way the man's gaze was fixed on him.

Knowing that Luke was enjoying his car only made him even more attractive and cool in Tony's books. He put his hand on Luke's knee, squeezing softly, and leaned toward him, nuzzling and licking the tender flesh of his neck. "You are so gorgeous..." he murmured against the skin.

The driver let his head fall slightly to the side. "Try not to distract me too much, _Tony_, or else we'll crash before the main event," he said, but the way he spread his legs a bit as well in invitation, giving Tony more room to work, belied his words.

The other simply smiled, face flush against Luke's neck. '_Such an cute, obedient creature,_' he thought as he moved his hand up Luke's thigh slowly, stroking the leg. "It's okay, I'll play nice," he muttered. His warm hand cupped the offered bundle in Luke's pants, his mouth still sucking, biting, licking and kissing the neck.

Luke licked his lips and took a deep breath, forcing his eyes to stay on the road. Not much further now, thankfully; this body felt too much. Humans were like mayflies—like falling stars that burned so shortly and _so brightly_—but they certainly made up for it in the intensity of their lives.

Suddenly warm, he took off his bow-tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

Very much aroused, Tony took his hand off the hot bulge and slipped it into the opened shirt, stroking the hot chest underneath, fingers playing with a tender pink nipple. He was already panting and groaning slightly from lust, and he hadn't even been touched yet.

Luke moaned softly, more because of the fact that Tony was _so damned turned on_ than because of his ministrations, though they felt nice. "You want me badly, don't you?" he asked teasingly, his voice low.

"Oh, hell yes I want you badly, gorgeous, can't wait to make you mewl," he whispered in Luke's ear before licking and sucking earlobe, "like the cute kitten you are."

'_Well, that was not degrading at all_,' Luke thought acidly. "And you," he spoke low and seductively into Tony's ear, "are like a puppy going through puberty, rubbing itself against anything it can reach."

"Ouch, the kitten has claws," Tony chuckled, speaking into Luke's neck. "Maybe that's because you are using some kind of magic on me?" He laughed breathily and smiled. "Still far away?"

Luke parked the car. "No, we're here." He pushed Stark away from himself and unbuckled his seat-belt. "Do you need me to help you walk?"

"Are you kidding? I'm not that drunk, just tipsy," Tony answered, getting out.

The redhead smirked and got out too, locking the car with the remote control in the keychain. (Handy invention, that. Luke had to hand it to humankind, they sure knew how to make their lives easier.) He was looking forward to seeing Tony Stark, the Iron Man, fall flat on his face because yes, actually, he _was_ that drunk. He walked to his apartment complex and called the lift. He could hear Tony follow unsteadily behind him.

Tony was frowning as he looked around him with a disgusted face. This was _not_ the beautiful complex he'd been expecting, not at all. "Are you seriously living here?" he asked as he eyed the lift dubiously. "For god sake, tell me it won't fall..."

Luke turned toward the opening elevator door and spoke scornfully. "We could always take the stairs, but with the state you are in—!" He didn't get to finish: he was suddenly pushed into the elevator and face first against the back wall.

"I can't wait anymore..." Tony grunted and smiled greedily, nuzzling the nape of Luke's neck, kissing a shoulder and pressing his hips against Luke's bottom – he had to stand on tiptoe to do it. Fuck, the man was _tall._ "You are _so_ damn hot, you drive me _crazy_," he whispered in a husky voice.

"Press 7," Luke said hoarsely. "I'm not letting you fuck me in this lift; as sexy as it sounds, I live here." Tony was a shorter than the men he usually went for, so he had to bend his knees a bit to properly rub his ass on Tony's crotch, distracting him from the task at hand for the sake of mischief.

Tony's was dizzy. It was hard to think properly with Luke rubbing his ass against his crotch, the little slut. He tried to reach the seventh button, failed, tried twice more and finally managed to press it. The elevator moved, and the next few seconds passed like hours in his mind. He couldn't wait; he was already trying to undress his prey. "I like your scent darling."

Luke laughed internally at that. Really, what would the Axe people say if he told them their cheap fragrances attracted lecherous men too? He reached back over his shoulder, going for Tony's head, and pushed Tony's face into his neck. "Less talking, more licking."

That was like music in Tony's ears. He couldn't help but chuckle before licking and sucking the white tender flesh. Then the doors _finally_ opened and he slowly pulled back from Luke's body. "Okay, here we go." He was already a bit out of breath, his body burning hot and his heart galloping in his chest, and it didn't do him any favors when it came to walking.

Luke chuckled, seeing Tony stumble around a bit. He took pity on the man and guided him to his door with a hand on his lower back.

Tony was handsy as he unlocked it. He was handsy as they went through the doorway and he remained handsy while Luke closed the door and led them both to his bedroom in the dark, getting rid of coats and waistcoats on the way. Once inside, Tony grabbed Luke's waist and pulled him against the wall, catching Luke's lips with his, almost biting them, then sucking and licking with passion, his tongue trying to find its way to its twin. He moaned into the one-sided kiss, grunting like an animal. "Damn..."

Luke could tell Tony's higher brain functions were gone. Out the window. Poof. This would be the _perfect_ time to kill him and end half of his problems, but it would mean sacrificing all he had gained so far and an awesome night of sex. He grabbed Tony's hear by the hair and tore his mouth away. "No kissing. How do we do this?"

"Okay," No kissing, huh? Tony could deal with that. He grabbed Luke's shirt with his two hands and opened it violently, tearing up the nice, expensive fabric, buttons flying everywhere. He pressed his lips to a pink nipple and sucked on it. "How do you like it, hm?" he asked in a breath and then pulled back, only to push the man onto the bed.

Luke turned on the little bedside-table lamp, kicked off his shoes and started to work on his own pants, opening the zipper. "If you want to top, you have to do as I say. Otherwise, I top." He motioned Tony closer, crooking his fingers in a come-hither gesture.

That surprised a chuckle out of Tony. "What the hell are you talking about? Like there's any doubt." He took off his shirt by pulling it off as if it were a t-shirt but keeping the tank-top underneath, covering up the reactor, and fought against his pants. "Of _course_ I'll top, what are you rules?" He finished taking off his pants and clambered onto the bed, between Luke's legs. Then he helped him take off his slacks and briefs before leaning over him and kissing his belly, taking notice that his hair color was natural.

"Just do as I say," Luke growled, pushing Tony's head lower, "and we'll be just fine."

"You are such a domineering little slut, aren't you?" he murmured, taking off Luke's underwear. "But that's okay, baby, I like it." He kissed and licked the delicate skin, purposely avoiding the most sensitive part, which was simply _begging_ for attention.

Luke growled a bit. "Get on with it, Stark. No teasing, either," he ground out, lifting his hips slightly into the air, trying to get contact.

The billionaire chuckled and wrapped strong and warm fingers around the hard cock. He started to slowly stroke it, staring at his handwork, licking his lips with greed.

Exasperated, Luke grabbed Tony's idle hand and held it to his mouth. "Copy what I do," he said, and licked the tip of the index and middle fingers.

So bossy. "Oh, I see," Tony breathed, "I guess I can do something like that." He smiled, very amused by the game and cursing himself that he hadn't thought of it first.

* * *

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* * *

Stark was a dead weight on him. Had he fainted?

The man in question was a dead weight on him. Had he fainted? Luke smiled, loving the feeling of the softening cock inside him. One last caress—that was always his favorite part of sex with men—as it deflated.

"Tony?" he ventured.

No response. Hm. He tilted his body to the side, dislodging Tony. He was tired to the bones, but he knew from experience that the colored contacts he was wearing would smart in the morning. So he gathered all his will and got up, getting rid of the condoms in the kitchen trashcan and went into the bathroom.

He quickly took the contacts off, washed them and stored them in their little case, leaving it in a handy spot for the next morning, just in case he'd have to deal with Stark again. He took a couple gulps of water from the tap and went back into the bedroom, which stank of sex. Stark hadn't moved from the position in which he'd left him, the glowing circle in his chest casting the room in pale, eerie blue. Luke got the blankets from where they had fallen to the floor, lifted Stark's arm and practically dove into the warm, warm bed under it. He covering them both with the blankets, turned off the little bedside-table lamp and dozed off.

His last thought was that Tony smelled nice too.

* * *

Lukas woke up at least half an hour before his alarm rang with the sun in his eyes—such was the curse of having an apartment that faced east, but it had come free with Jimmy, so he had no room for complaints—and a dead weight on his chest. He looked down and saw Stark, curled up around him, head resting on Luke's chest. '_Why the hell is he still here?_' he thought, annoyed.

He got out of the bed, careful not to wake the man—Luke didn't care for the awkward conversations of morning–afters—and closed the curtains. Hm, they had forgotten to do it last night; someone must have had a show. He walked to the kitchen, smirking, and started the old coffeemaker. As a mortal himself, he now understood the dependency humans had on it, even if he couldn't stand the taste.

Leaving the coffee to percolate, Luke went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He took a leak while the he waited for the water to warm, and then waited some more sitting on the toilet. When steam started fogging the glass screen, he stepped into the shower stall and started his usual shower routine.

Meanwhile, Tony woke up to the smell of coffee and a moderate hangover. His mind was fucking dizzy. Damn it, he hated hangovers. He yawned and stretched his body on the bed, then finally opened his eyes. He frowned, not recognizing the bedroom.

"Shit," he said softly, sitting suddenly on the bed and rubbing his forehead. '_Remember, remember, remember, Tony, you can do it._' He thought back quickly. '_Yep, the bar, so far so good. Okay, did I go home with someone? ...The barman, yes! Rough sex session, black out._' Happy that he had managed to recall mostly everything, he got up muttering, "O...k, time to disappear, Houdini," and started hunting for his clothes.

Luke heard the—possibly very hung-over—man stumble around in his room, so loud he could hear him even over the noise of the shower. He took some pity on the man and yelled, "Stark, there's coffee on if you want some!"

Tony froze and close his eyes tight. "Heh, shit. Epic fail for Houdini today," he chastised himself, and then added, shouting, "ha-ha, okay! Thank you!" '_Ow, owww, my head..._' He tried not to complain about the pain out loud as he put his pants and shirt on, forgoing his underwear, socks—God only knew where _those_ had landed—and shoes. He yawned. Coffee sounded great.

He walked towards the small kitchen but got distracted while passing in front the bathroom door, hearing the shower. Now he could remember more. Especially Luke's body... Rectification, his _gorgeous body_. He smiled widely and slowly opened the door. He poked his head in and caught his host, completely visible through the glass, save in some spots that were fogged up. He strolled in, put down the toilet lid and sat down. He leaned back on the wall behind him, enjoying the show of Lukas on display, with his hands up rubbing shampoo out of his hair, water and suds trailing down his naked body.

He watched the spectacle with a lecherous grin and then couldn't resist anymore. "Morning, gorgeous."

Luke startled and blinked in surprise, getting a bit of shampoo into his left eye. He turned around to face Tony, almost slipping, one hand held over his eye, the other on the tiled wall to steady himself. "What are you doing here?!" he asked, shrilly, looking at Tony accusingly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, relax, darling, chill!" Tony said, sitting up, waving his hands in the universal _calm-the-fuck-down_ gesture. "I just wanted to look at you, no need to panic, ha-ha. You are going to fall, cupcake." Tony stood up and slid open the glass door, meaning to help poor Lukas, but getting water on the bathroom floor in the process. He put a gentle hand on Luke's hip to hold him still and the other one on his chin, tilting the face towards the falling water. "Here, rinse your eye out."

Luke took a steadying breath. '_Auðumla grant me patience_', he thought. And then he started panicking, because he remembered he_ wasn't wearing the contacts. _"Cease that," he bit out, slapping away Tony's hands and turning to get his face under the spray, avoiding looking Tony in the eye. "And get out of the stall, you'll get that thing wet," he added curtly, motioning to the circle of metal and light, blinking the shampoo out. Damn it. _Why _had he _ever_ thought bringing Stark here was in _any_ way a good idea?

Tony smiled placatingly, retreating. "Okay, okay, take it easy, sweetheart. And don't worry, it's watertight." He closed the glass door and stared at the beautiful, creamy, white body, biting his lip, eyes hooded. "Damn, darling," he said, watching Lukas the way an art-thief looks at museum pieces behind glass. He chuckled low, "you are _such_ a glorious creature."

The man in the shower had rolled his eyes at the praising words, ignoring them. So he was pretty – what else was new in the world? It was the only thing he was good at anymore, being pretty. Luke tried to ignore Tony's presence as he finished rinsing and grabbed the bottle of conditioner.

Tony somehow managed to tear his eyes away when Luke turned his back, and then caught sight of himself in the mirror. "Holy shit, is that me?" Indeed, he looked _terrible_. "No, why, cruel old age?" he wailed, "destroying my face like that, you bitch..." He prodded his cheeks and sighed. "Old man, no more alcohol."

'_Don't remind me_,' Luke thought bitterly, his hands twitching into fists. Like the mortal was now wailing out for anyone to hear, it wouldn't be long until Luke too grew old and saggy and ugly, and became a corpse, unless he could prove himself worthy of immortality to a god. He scoffed, trying to forget his impending decay. "Make promises you can keep, idiot."

Tony sighed and shook his head, resigned. "Point to you, Luke," he said, shrugging, "that not a promise I can keep." Then he noticed Luke moving very much enticingly in the mirror, and turned around again, watching Luke's soft, hairless chest, the line of this neck, the hickeys he had left under Luke's jaw...

Having finished adding conditioner to his hair, Luke left it on as he soaped himself up, noticing Tony watching him. Maybe—he would take it to his grave, though—he did put on a bit of a show, sliding the foamy loofah down his neck, over his shoulder and down an arm, tilting his head away enticingly – and to hide his now green eyes.

But it wasn't enough.

Tony raised a surprised eyebrow as he noticed something different. "Uh, Luke? Dude, your eyes are green! Show me, they are truly amazing." He slid the glass door open—the floor was already wet, anyway—and took Luke's chin in two fingers, forcing the ginger to look at him.

'_Time to mess with Tony's head,_' thought Luke. Oh, but then again, he couldn't tell the man the whole what-are-you-talking-about-my-eyes-have-always-been-like-this spiel he was preparing, because he'd left the contacts' case on the sink, in plain sight. Curses. He turned towards Tony, the spray warming his side, and very pointedly grabbed Tony's wrist and pulled the hand off his face. Then he stared down at Tony, straight into his eyes, and let him watch his fill, silent, defiant.

"That's such an amazing color, I like it a _lot_," Tony gushed. "They are way better than your blue eyes—em, contacts—honestly!" But he couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something strange. Hadn't he seen eyes like these before? He stared, mesmerized. "Déjà vu," he whispered, more to himself than anything.

Luke heard, and turned his gaze away with a grimace. He could only hope Tony wouldn't recognize him _just yet_. Maybe give him a day or two, enough time to pack everything, call some people, make arrangements for the bar, change his look again and flee with a head start. Maybe Chicago would be nice. He liked lakes, he supposed, and Gentleman Johnny Marcone would take him for a few days until he got on his feet again...

He should distract Tony from remembering just where he'd seen him before, though, if he wanted that time. He closed his eyes in resignation and tugged the intruder, clothes and all, into the shower stall with him, sliding the glass door shut and turning him around and slamming him face first into it.

"Hey—ho! Whoa, whoa, whoa—wait, kitty!" Tony said, disoriented. "Ha-ha, you are so impatient, let me take off my clothes first, no?" he asked with a chuckle. "No—wait, cupcake, seriously, I should go now. I have an important meeting at nine a.m. and it's already..." he tried to recall the time, and drew a blank. "Wait, what time is it?" he asked, but he was already clenching his hands on the glass, tilting his head to the side and pushing back against Luke subconsciously.

Luke was a bit surprised at just how eager the mortal's body was, despite what was coming out of his mouth. Stark was already hard, even! He pushed Tony flush against the glass—knowing it would hold, because Jimmy and him had tested that _very_ extensively—and slid a thigh between Tony's legs, hoisting him up a bit. He leaned close to whisper in Tony's ear.

"It's about seven thirty. The sun woke me up before my alarm rang." Luke spoke in the tone of voice he'd heard described as gravel-and-velvet. He was immensely proud of it; he'd practiced very hard to manage the low voice that could stop short any opposition and kindle thought of passion in anyone he used it on. "Care for round two?"

Tony inhaled, just the _tiniest_ bit apprehensive. "Round two?" he giggled nervously, "well... I don't know—honestly, it depends. I must admit I don't really like my position right now, sweetheart." Having Luke right in his back wasn't exactly reassuring for Tony. _He_ was the lion, not the impala; he was _Tony Stark_ after all. "What are you planning to do with my precious little body? 'Cause I'm a bit worried to have you at my back, ha-ha." And then he remembered the coffee, and added, a bit desperately, "Anyway, didn't you say something about breakfast? 'Cause I'm hungry."

_'Tch, of course,_' Lukas thought. Was he the only one man enough to be argr and admit he liked it? The men he'd had sex with always _promised_ reciprocation, but when he wanted to collect they were suddenly _very busy_ or claimed not to know what he was talking about, while still eyeing Luke's own ass covetously whenever they could. Lukas gaped silently in indignation, bitterness and anger. He felt like biting Stark's ear off, but refrained.

"I was planning," he snarled quietly, _dangerously_, right into Tony's ear, "on stuffing my cock into you tight little arse and _rubbing _your sweet spot with it until you came." He pauses to let that sink in, rubbing his half-hard cock against Tony's jean-clad ass. "But if you'd rather _cater_ to your hunger instead of your pleasure, well..." He pushed off Tony, letting him back on the floor.

Tony was a bit stunned. "S—stick your cock in my ass and rub my sweet spot until I come?" he repeated dumbly, running it through his mind again, trying to re-start his heart, which had stopped at Luke's words. Tony turned his head to the man behind him and stared at him for a second. "Wow," he babbled, "such a nice way to say the thing, I like it, you should be a poet, seriously." He spoke nonsense, his mind whirring. He had heard it in Luke's voice and he could see it now in his face, plain as day: the redhead was upset. He must have _really_ wanted to fuck him, which was kind of unexpected for Tony. He decided, on a whim. After all, this one was special, right? "Okay, baby, go ahead..." He turned back around, facing the bathroom, then licked his lips, unsure, and added, "but don't forget I need to be able to sit for my meeting, no joke."

It was his way of saying '_be gentle'._

Lukas smiled when he caught on, delighted. The cherry on top was that Tony was facing away, presenting his back, his trust to Luke, offering them freely. Tony Stark was going to let him—_him_, the bartender of a bar, who lived in a cheap apartment and wore cheap deodorant—fuck him up the ass. From _behind._

He slid his arms around Tony, pulling him flush against him, hugging him briefly, then unbuttoned Tony's waterlogged, now-translucent shirt and peeled it off, caressing the skin as he went. It stuck to Tony, and Luke thought it might be fun to leave it there, around Tony's forearms, effectively restraining them behind his back—it might be fun to see just how far his trust extended—so he did, just because he could.

Then Luke moved on to the jeans, which were so heavy with water that they might as well have been glued on. He undid the button, lowered the zipper carefully—he guessed Tony wouldn't bother with underwear, and he guessed right—teasing the cock he uncovered with strokes of a single finger. The pants were too wet to waste time forcing them off, but he managed to hook them under Tony's ass, which, really, was all they needed.

Tony had a _great_ ass. Lukas hadn't had the chance to see it before, or play with it, and he regretted it now. It was pert, heart-shaped, and he felt tempted to bite it. Instead, Luke gave it a squeeze—"Nice," he murmured appreciatively—followed by a slap, making it jiggle.

The owner of said ass grunted at the slap. "Ouch! Hey! That was demeaning," Tony complained, but even if he said it he couldn't help but smile. Lukas was definitely a dominant type, and that was not unpleasant, so far at least. "Come on, you," he whined, "stop playing with my ass and just fuck me, okay?" He was begging, arching his back in a calculatedly submissive way and pushing his butt at Luke, acting like a two dollar whore, trying to tempt him.

But Luke knew that routine—had used it himself in fact—and also knew Tony was not truly desperate yet. "Patience, Tony, you asked for gentle, remember?" he teased. He took the bottle of conditioner—he'd bought it for its creamy texture, which was great for dyed hair, but he had since discovered it was great for _other _uses, too—and poured a dollop on his hand, setting about preparing Tony.

* * *

**NC-17 bits go here. If you think you can handle them, r****ead the full version at**

******+AO3** ( archive of our own *dot* org *slash* works *slash* 473797**)**

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* * *

His arms gave out and he slumped against Tony's back, catching his breath loudly with huge heaves of his chest. Tony himself was no better, taking huge, noisy gulps of air, even crushed as he was against the glass pane. Luke waited until his cock was a bit softer and pulled out, loving, as always, the feeling. He gave a small kiss to Tony's shoulder in appreciation and chuckled. "Forgot the condom." He wasn't even a bit sorry.

Tony was shivering, arms still knotted in his shirt at his back. Like he cared about condoms. Right now, he couldn't possibly care less about anything but the euphoria he was feeling and the man that had made it possible. He smiled weakly and coughed a bit. He was feeling _so_ good, so perfectly good, satisfied and relaxed.

"Yeah, forget it..." he managed, still catching his breath. "Damn you, but know how to use your cock, cupcake, don't you?" he giggled and straightened. He then realized the pain in his lower back. "Fuck, you broke my body, Lukas," he giggled again, not really giving a damn. "Help me stand up?" he asked. "I'm sure I'm going to be late," he laughed, "Pepper is going kill me dead, this time for sure."

Luke smiled mischievously. "Let's get you out of your wet clothes first, yes? I can lend you some for you to travel in."

He turned off the water—any conditioner in his hair had been completely washed away, along with the soap on his skin—and tugged on the shirt around Tony's wrists until it came off, thankful the man hadn't done up the cuff buttons. Then he helped an unsteady Tony up and, with a lot of effort on both their parts, peeled the cum-stained jeans off, leaving them, with the shirt, in a sopping wet pile in the shower stall.

He stepped out carefully and got his towel. After grabbing his contact lenses kit from the sink, he told Tony to wait in the bathroom and went back into the bedroom. He popped the lenses back in and rummaged through his closet for a clean towel and clothes that might fit Tony, wearing only his contacts and his towel around his shoulders so that his hair wouldn't drip too much.

Tony, never one to do as he was told, waited maybe a whole twenty seconds in the shower stall, before thinking '_what the hell,'_ and walking to Luke's bedroom, dripping water everywhere. As he waited for Luke to find him something to wear—it was bound to be a challenge, given the difference in their heights—he snooped around, trying to find some pictures or personal stuff in the small flat. He spotted a picture frame face down on the far bedside table and picked it up.

Luke was wrapped around an ape-like guy, half a head taller—how was that even _possible_?—and twice the width of Luke. With his mad detective skills, he deduced it to be the famous boyfriend.

"So, are you living here with your boyfriend? I hope he is not the jealous type?"

Luke startled and bumped his head on a shelf, then turned around to glare daggers at Stark. "I thought I told you to stay in the bathroom, Stark?"

The man paid him no mind, picking up a book from the same bedside table. He flipped through it and checked out the title with a raised eyebrow. "A book of magic? So, you like this kind of things? Creepy bastard."

Loki noticed the man was snooping. "Quit that. Here," he threw a pair of jeans and a t-shirt Jimmy, had left behind when Luke had kicked him out. "And if you must know," he said as he got dressed, "Jimmy and I are... taking a break."

"Jimmy?" he asked, very dubious. "Are you serious? That name sucks, totally doesn't fit him," Tony said as he look at the clothes with disgust. He sighed and stood up. He got dressed. "Maybe _Rambo_ or _Rocky_, but _Jimmy? _Seriously?" He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to find a positive side. "Not that bad after all," he lied, "I look younger, no?" The outfit clashed with his shoes.

Luke sneered at him. "If you don't like your attire, you can always call that secretary of yours on your overstated phone to bring you some."

"I guess I could do something like that... Hey, how do you know about Pepper, anyway?" he giggled.

"I watch the news, like everyone else," Luke bit out acidly.

Tony found himself in that feeling of déjà vu again. He stared at Lukas. "Hey, question: why do you hide your pretty green eyes?"

"Green eyes are striking," Truth. "People remember them. Blue eyes are more common." Truth. "With the life I lead, it wouldn't do to for people to remember me." Also truth. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He went to the kitchen to get a plastic bag and gave it to Tony, who had followed him. "For the wet clothes," he explained.

"Forget that," Tony replied. He could buy a hundred of the same and not make a dent on his pocket money. "So? Would you drive me home in your super awesome customized bike, darling?"

'_Tenacious bastard._' Luke went to where he'd tossed Tony's coat the night before and checked the pockets. Yes, as he'd thought, the key to the sexy, sexy car was still there. "You have your own car. Drive yourself," he chastised, throwing both the coat and the keys separately at Tony's face.

"Ow! D'aw, come on, little darling, you are just sooooo mean, you really don't want to share your baby with me? I shared mine with you! Don't be selfish!" he winked winsomely.

But the red-head ignored him. "Want breakfast before you leave?" he asked, changing the subject. He wanted Tony the hell out of there, but there were rules to hospitality, and Tony had mentioned being hungry before.

Tony opened his eyes wide. "Breakfast?!" No, no, _no,_ Stark, bad idea. No couple-y breakfast for one-night-stands, _especially not_ after morning sex. It was getting dangerous; he'd end up getting attached to this man if he allowed things to continue on this course, and he didn't _want_ any regular relationship in his life. '_Time to run, Forest!'_ He pretended to looked at his watch. "Well no, I'm late."

Luke blinked. These humans _really_ changed their tune fast. "O...kay," he said dubiously, eyebrows raised. "Well then." He poured himself some coffee and put a couple bread slices in the toaster. When he turned around, the man was still there. Luke stared at him. "Well? Door's over there," he pointed. "Chop, chop." He made a shooing motion.

Tony had been staring at the younger man, wanting to ask if they could meet again one day. But no, Lukas was right, he should go ahead and leave. "Yep, so, mm, have a nice day, Lukas. That was really amazing. Tony Stark said it," he gave Luke a two-finger salute and a wink. "Take care," he smiled and finally left the flat. After all, he knew where Luke was worked and where he lived, that would make it easy to meet him again if he wanted to.

Luke watched him go. '_It appears I have the Tony Stark Seal of Approval. Should put that on my CV..._' he thought, amused.

Then his face grew serious.

Lukas unplugged the toaster, poured the coffee into the sink and cleared out his fridge as well he could on such short notice. He went to his room to pack the essentials, talking all the while into the mobile glued to his ear, contacting Marcone's people, calling Cacace to tell him Luke had to fly, finding a replacement for the bar... He got out the IDs and credit cards belonging to a Marcus Lloyd and put them in his wallet, taking out those with his name on them.

* * *

Mark went to the bathroom. He took out his blue contacts and exchanged them for brown ones, flushing the old ones down the toilet. He also flushed the bits and pieces that were left of Lukas Frode's driver license and credit cards, which he had cut up with a nail clipper. He wiped the mobile's memory and dropped it in the toilet bowl and then dyed his hair a common, ordinary brown.

He grabbed the spell book Stark had so dismissively laughed at earlier and a piece of chalk, and drew a sigil on every door, window and mirror, including the closet door.

After gathering his backpack, Mark gave one last, longing look at the apartment that had been Luke's home for over a year and exited into the hallway. He tossed the apparent keys back inside and closed the door behind him. He drew a last sigil on the front door, this time biting a finger until it bled and touching his blood to the chalk marking. He put away the book and left.

The apartment went up in flames behind him. There was no need to call the fire department—the magical fire would only burn the traces of Lukas Frode left behind, nothing else—so he paid it no mind as he got into the elevator.

Once outside, he flagged down a cab and got in, telling the driver to get him to the airport.

Markus Lloyd needed to disappear before Iron Man remembered he had last met him when his name was still Loki.

* * *

**The End**

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**A/N:** So. I hope you enjoyed (even though I had to cut out 5k of fantastic porn). Don't forget to comment, either to praise or concrit, all is good. (Except flames. Flames will be printed posted on my wall and ridiculed publicly.)

Love,

~PlumaDesatada


	2. You Were Mine

**Rating**: Gen

**Length: **2.7k words.

**Pairing:** Frostiron a.k.a. Loki/Tony Stark

**Warnings:** None. No towel required.

**A/N: **This is the requested second part where Tony goes to seek Luke only to find him gone. Brace yourselves!

**Summary:** Thor liked the name of the bar Ice and Fire, and the Avengers ended up partying there. Tony's just nervous about facing Luke after that night two months ago—but will he even have to?

**Read also at AO3** ( archive of our own *dot* org *slash* works *slash* 556658) **or at my Tumblr **(plumadesatada *dot* tumblr *dot* com *slash* post *slash* 35191457132)

* * *

**Like Absinthe (You Were Mine)**

**by Pluma Desatada**

* * *

It was by complete chance that Tony came to stand in Ice and Fire again, about three months after he had left the establishment with an alarmingly handsome man. (Coincidentally, he hadn't seen said man in that time also, but, to be honest, most times he didn't see his one-night stands again if he could help it.) He was there because Thor had liked the name—said it reminded him of Asgardian creation myth or something—and the rest of the Avengers had decided that Ice and Fire was _the_ spot to take their gathering to.

So here he was, nursing a drink in a booth and not knowing whether to keep an eye out for Luke or hide from him, while Natasha chatted amiably with Bruce on his right and Clint tried to convince Steve to try the daiquiris in the side opposite them. Thor was with Jane... somewhere. Probably being scandalized and a little turned on by what passed for dancing on good ol' Earth, Tony thought, smiling.

A victorious crow drew him from his musings.

"Listen everyone," said Clint, loud enough to deafen Tony even over the din of the place, "Cap here has decided to try the daiquiris!" He looked damn proud of himself and looked at them encouragingly, as though he was expecting a thunderous applause.

Tony was game, of course. He clapped slowly, grinning, and elbowed Bruce by his side to invite him to join. He did, and Natasha followed impassively, looking a bit confused (going by the slight tilt of her head) about what was going on but being her awesome self all the same.

The applause died down and they looked at each other, all wondering the same thing: who would be the one to get them drinks?

"So, rock-paper-scissors?" Tony proposed, grinning.

Bruce and Steve immediately complained. "Natasha is a _ninja_—","—but Clint's eyesight!" and decided they should draw lots to make everything fair. Naturally, Murphy's laws being what they were, the one who had been avoiding the bar all evening long and would have happily continued to avoid it, drew the short straw: Tony.

He made a point to stand readily, conceding defeat honorably or some crap, though he kinda wanted to bully Steve into going. What? It would do him some good, to go and order alcohol for himself. (Tony conveniently forgot all the wartime stories Cap had told them, including those of drinking wildly during rests with squad.)

Anyway. Tony up-ended what was left of his drink into his stomach. There was a saying about fortifying drinks he didn't recall, but he was trying to get as drunk as possible before having to face Luke. Ergh, just _thinking_ his name made his heart skip a beat. Since that night, three months ago, when he has surrendered himself to pleasure in Luke's arms—and boy, didn't the flashbacks make him shiver—he had tried sex with other men found it... _lacking_. Leaving clichés aside, it really seemed only Luke would satisfy him – and didn't _that_ make him feel like the heroine of an erotic novel, complete with heaving bosoms and tight corsets?

Pasting on his most seductive smile and adding some swagger into his step, he approached the bar. By the time he reached it he had mysteriously gained two phone numbers, which he put in his wallet when he opened it to get money out. '_Heh. Still got it,_' he congratulated himself as he waded through the mass of people vying for the attention of the bartender – wow, the bad sure had risen in popularity since the last time he'd been here!

He looked around for Luke, but the two bartenders in sight were not him. Hm. He waved two bens in the face of the bartender closest to him, a girl. He could practically see dollar signs in her eyes when she spotted him.

"Yo," she greeted, tucking a lock of pink hair behind her heavily pierced ear, "what can I get you?"

Now he was in his element. Why had he been so nervous? "Daiquiris, lots of them—at least ten, banana, strawberry, I don't care—and your phone number," he winked winsomely.

The girl smiled sarcastically at him. With a raised eyebrow and everything! Ouch. "Sorry, my girlfriend might object to that," she deadpanned, finding the rum and assorted fruit.

Oh, well, that explained things. "How about you give me hers, then, so I can ask her permission?" he said, managing to stay serious for all of two seconds, before bending over laughing.

At least he managed to make her grin and shake her head, amused, which was more than any of the losers around him could claim. He waited patiently, humming whatever song was playing and flirting with everyone within hearing distance—it wasn't saying much, though, seeing how the music was kinda loud and drowned out most of the conversation—as the girl made him the drinks.

He decided he wasn't going to be able to actually take the daiquiris back by himself—yeah, his foresight when tipsy? Not so good—and texted Steve to come help him get them to the table. By the time Steve reached him, shaking his head affectionately, the daiquiris were about done. The chick put them on two trays and everything for them to carry and winked at Tony as she slid the money from his hand.

"Nah, keep the change," Tony yelled over the music when he saw her taking small denomination bills from the register.

The girl stared at him with her hand hovering above the money tray. "You sure? The total doesn't even reach a hundred and thirty."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Buy your girlfriend something nice." And then, like water leaking out of a high-pressure pipe with a hole, words gushed out of his mouth before going through his brain-to-mouth filter. "So, since it was a nix on your number, can you tell me where to find Luke?"

She looked surprised and a little sad. "Oh, did you know him? I'm so sorry."

Tony just started at her and gestured with his hand for her to continue.

Looking distraught, she finally answered, "He died like three months ago. House fire," she shrugged, "sorry. His ex, Jimbo, is the bouncer, he can probably tell you more."

Also, she was busy as hell and he was holding up the line, staying there as his world fell apart like so much shattered glass. He shook himself from his trance. "Right, sorry, thanks for the daiquiris, have a nice life, don't forget to be awesome," he babbled, still reeling from the news.

He and Steve somehow managed to navigate the crowd surrounding the counter until they reached a less densely populated area.

"You are pale," Steve told him as soon as he could make himself heard without shouting, "do you need a moment? I can take the drinks to the table if you want."

Tony was about to say no, but then he thought it better and handed the tray to him so quickly that the liquid sloshed and spilled a couple droplets. "Yes," he said simply, grabbing a glass and taking a big gulp. He seemed lost.

"Did you know him well?" Steve, the _asshole_ asked, using his best I'm-Captain-America-I'm-so-wholesome-and-so-compassionate tone of voice, and Tony felt like throwing the daiquiri in his face and ruining his nice shirt.

How to answer that? He couldn't tell Steve Luke had been a one-night-stand Tony had taken a liking to. He couldn't tell how Luke had completely undone him—wrecked him, really; ruined him for men that weren't him— and had kindly offered him breakfast the next morning, as they were _friends_. He couldn't tell Steve that he had been fighting down the urge to come to this same bar and find Luke and beg him for a second round, and maybe spend a month with him in Malibu.

"No," he said at last, after another gulp of... kiwi? Yes, kiwi daiquiri. The green reminded him of Luke's eyes, but the color was off. He wanted to throw the drink against a wall. _Fuck. _"No, I didn't. Just met him the once, really. I don't know why I'm so..." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Excuse me," he said, putting the unfinished drink back on the tray and turning to leave.

Steve wanted to reach for him, but both his hands were occupied. "Phone me if you need..." he yelled and trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence. He saw Tony waving at him dismissively over his shoulder as he walked away, and cursed. But he went back to the guy's table, respecting Tony's wishes to be alone.

* * *

Only, Tony didn't want to be alone. Well, okay, so he did, but what he actually wanted was to talk to Jimbo—'_Luke called him 'Jimmy', so affectionately_,' Tony remembered—so he was marching up to the entrance.

The bouncer on duty—Tony wondered if they had shifts, or it was a more informal thing. "Your turn to kick that drunk out, I got the last one," and such— was not Luke's ex, though he resembled him a lot. They must take the same steroids.

"Say, where can I find Jimbo?" Tony asked.

Bouncer guy was a man of few words, and for all answer he pointed outside and said, "Smoking."

Tony nodded sagely and thanked the mountain of muscle, then stepped outside and looked for the other one. He found him easily enough, sitting on a bench that some thoughtful person—probably Luke himself, he _had_ been the owner after all—had put close enough to the door to make it clear where it belonged but far enough to get privacy from people waiting in line or coming out of the club.

"This sit taken?" he asked and sat anyway, before the dude could answer. Well, going by his prehistoric look, it could take a while before his pea-sized brain processed the request. '_No, I'm not biased against him, why do you ask?_' he thought to himself.

"Wha' do ya want?" the pile of muscle asked churlishly.

Tony debated whether to beat around the bush or not. Ah, what the hell. "I came here hoping to find Luke. Imagine my surprise when the bartender tells me he's dead."

The guy, against all predictions, snorted. "Not the first one to ask, you," he laughed, and took a drag from his cigarette. It looked tiny and dainty in his huge, hulking hands, like it could break at any moment. He could see now why Luke had laughed when Tony had asked if Jimmy was a bartender too—no glasses would survive the night. "What are you? Narcotics? Fed?" his words came out as smoke.

Tony regarded Jimmy curiously, not knowing how to answer that, or why it had even been asked. "None of them." The guy raised an eyebrow and raised a brow expectantly, though Tony was kinda surprised he had enough fine motor skills to manage that. "I kinda slept with, and wanted to again," he shrugged, "no big deal."

A knowing, understanding expression came onto Jimbo's face, and his eyes lost a bit of focus. "Ah, I see," he breathed, smiling slightly. but said nothing else.

Tony batted away the smell of smoke, coughing slightly. "What, that's it? No jealous rage?" he asked skeptically.

Laughing heartily now, Jimbo tossed the cigarette butt on the cement floor and stepped on it. "Knew it was gonna end from the start," he shrugged. "I mean, a guy like _him_," he paused, smiling sadly, "with some deadbeat low-class thug like me? Nah."

Tony blinked, looking away. Okay, he had _so_ not been prepared to talk feelings.

But Luke's ex continued regardless. "Knew he was with me to get the bar, and yet he still stayed with me for months after my uncle gave it to him." He hummed, remembering. "No one thought he was gonna stay with me. We even got an apartment together."

Yeah, Tony had been to it. Blunt as always, he told Jimmy exactly that, and added admiringly, "The shower glass door? Must be industrial strength or something. Solid thing."

Jimmy blushed, of all things, bright enough for Tony to see despite the closest lights being the half-light that came from the open door and the advertising lights flashing above them. Wow, must be some good memories. Maybe Jimbo wasn't as bad as Tony had thought—he may be a blundering brute, but he had been _Luke's_ blundering brute, and Luke wouldn't have chosen a half-wit with no redeeming qualities.

"Good memories, huh?" Tony chuckled, still sad but less so now. The guy nodded, smiling. "Me too, me too," Tony answered. They watched the cars drive by in silence for a while, in a strangely comfortable silence. And then Tony ruined it. "So, why did you think I was with the police?"

Jimmy told him how Luke had come from _nowhere_ and taken the world by storm, becoming well-known and respected in a mere three months. He told Tony about Luke's trouble with authority and his inability to grasp laws he didn't agree with and bend them to his will anyway. He told him about Luke's strange but strict moral code that no one ever understood, aside from a couple rules here and there—_No children_ being one of them, and _No violence if you can manage, otherwise it's not as fun_— and about his otherworldly ability to talk his way out of things or talk anyone into anything, an ability that made him especially sought-after by the mafia—like his family, he confided—and ensured he would get taken care of. He told him about the police catching wind of the deals Luke had conducted in his uncle's bar, officially Luke's, and had started sniffing around and "requesting his cooperation" —yes, he even gave that air quotes—and about how Luke had given them the bare minimum, and used them to take out his rivals to boot.

Tony listened, enthralled, discovering Luke anew, making the appropriate Oohs and Aahs at all the right points naturally. It was a pity Luke had died — Tony though he would have liked to stick around, get to know him better. He was such an interesting man. But now he was dead.

And then, Jimmy dropped the bomb: "...From what he told my uncle, someone from his old life popped up and saw him, so he had to disappear."

That startled Tony. "_Disappear?_" he yelped, his heart suddenly drumming a bas-relief into the metal wall of the arc reactor.

Jimmy looked at him slyly, a look that was completely incongruous with his whole face and body. "Yeah. He's not really dead, just up in the wind."

"Where?" Tony managed, eyes wide, looking soulfully at the man next to him. He would get down on his knees if the man wanted him to, if only to get him to answer the damn question.

"No idea, He just up and left," Jimmy shrugged, lighting another cigarette. "My uncle said he initially went to Illinois, somewhere in there, but he could be anywhere by now." He took a drag and looked at Tony speculatively, trying to discern whether he was worthy of the knowledge. He exhaled. "My bet is out of the country—that's how he ended up here, by the way, from what he told me. Said he was running from law enforcement in Norway or something…"

Tony's phone buzzed. Text from Steve: _Are you okay?_

He looked at Jimbo—Jimmy—James? and explained, "My friends are looking for me. Better go inside." He averted his eyes, not sure how to show his gratitude. He would hug the man, but Jimmy could probably crush him in one hand.

"Thanks you," he said instead, holding out his hand for him to shake.

"No problem," Jimmy answered, standing up, and shook his hand.

It must have looked hilarious, to anyone looking at them: a massive man, with his massive hand, shaking hands with someone as compact as Tony, and comparably tiny. Tony smiled at him genuinely, and the man returned it, showing off his crocked, nicotine-stained teeth.

Then Tony said his goodbyes and went back inside to reassure Steve and try to have fun, resigned not to see Luke ever again.


	3. You're Toxic

**Rating**: Mature.

**Length: **10k words. (Uncut version: 12k)

**Pairing:** Frostiron a.k.a. Loki/Tony Stark

**Warnings:** None. Also removed the porny bits :) Please do tell if a sentence is too hot to handle, and I'll take it out.

**A/N: **This is the result of me trying to do NaNoWriMo and failing to come up with a plot that would last me 50k words, thus choosing instead to write four one-shots. This is open ended enough — if people give me the green light, I think I'll try to make Absinthe a trilogy!

**Summary:** Tony Stark gets dragged to Chicago for business, so naturally he will try to escape it any way he can. And if playing hooky from a meeting with a guy he despises puts him in the path of one Marcus Lloyd, consulting wizard, who is he to complain?

**Read the full version at AO3** ( archive of our own *dot* org *slash* works *slash* 556664) **or at my Tumblr** (plumadesatada *dot* tumblr *dot* com *slash* post *slash* 35190219904)

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**Like Absinthe (You're Toxic)**

**by Pluma Desatada**

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Chicago in high summer was like being slowly boiled in your own juices. Okay, so it was the first time Tony experienced it, but he already hated it and planned never to return unless it was closer to winter, At least the hotel suite he was staying in and the Mark V—it was the only suit Pepper had let him take, and he had had to take it as a suitcase because they had taken the private jet there—had air conditioning, but he was in the streets, playing hooky from a business meeting.

Coincidentally, said business meeting was with the same person who owned the hotel in which he was staying: John Marcone. Whom Tony disliked a great deal, and the feeling was mutual, ever since they had met about five or six years ago, way before Tony even became Iron Man. They were forced to see each other once in a while—charity galas, movie premieres, the works when talking about wealthy _philanthropists_—but they didn't like it. Tony thought Marcone was too anal and square, and Marcone thought Tony was a loose cannon.

Therefore, it was no wonder that Tony was avoiding him as long as he could, despite knowing that Marcone, like him, had been captured and tortured by terrorists at some point. In the interests of not to attracting attention, Tony had left his phone and the suit in the car, and had also left the car behind, only taking his wallet and his sunglasses with him.

So far, he had been to a coffee shop, had amused himself by ordering an extraordinarily complicated concoction that left the barista mildly impressed—or annoyed, it was hard to tell the difference for Tony—and had fucked said barista in the coffee shop toilet just because he could. Then he had taken his ridiculous order, gifted it to her and ordered something both normal and palatable, and a banana muffin, and gone out to find a place to eat his meal. Eventually, he had drifted to the park and sat himself down on a bench in a blind spot from what cameras he could see.

He was still there now, half an hour later, sweating like a pig, feeding pigeons the remains of his muffin and bored to tears. Away from his workshop and his phone, he was therefore away from Jarvis and internet, which was what he used to amuse himself when he wasn't at home or in a bar picking up women. A park was the third most unlikely place for him to be, the second being a library and the first being a museum or gallery.

Hm, that gave him an idea. No one would ever think to look for him in a library—not even Pepper, who knew him the most—and libraries nowadays had free internet, didn't they? 'Cause if they didn't, Tony was going to make it happen anyway. Even if he had to deal with Windows. thought he shuddered at the thought.

But, ah, he had no phone. No Jarvis to look up where the closest library. Shit. Um, time to find a native, then?

He looked around. The closest people were a family of three, the mom sitting on a spread blanket, spreading something on bread, probably making sandwiches despite it being around four in the afternoon, while the father pushed the child, a girl of around five, on a swing. Then there was an old man apparently sleeping in the bench across and to the right from Tony, covered in newspaper—hobo. Lastly, there was a man playing catch-the-Frisbee with a beautiful. humongous dog, a mass of silver and grey hair that looked simply gorgeous running and jumping around, and made Tony wish Howard had let him have a puppy all those years ago.

He got up and dusted himself, then crushed the muffin's paper bag into a ball, put it into the empty coffee cup and tossed them at a nearby trashcan. It bounced off the rim and fell out. Tony cursed, quickly picking it up and throwing it where it belonged, looking around to see if anyone had seen, blushing slightly.

The owner of the dog was close enough that Tony saw the smirk in his face even as the man looked away and pretended not to have noticed. Then curiously, the man turned to look at him again after a few seconds, as if checking him out on the sly, and averted his gaze when he saw Tony still looking. Now it was Tony's turn to smirk.

Animal magnetism, that was him.

Tony approached the man. If he didn't get a phone number, he would at least get directions to the nearest library, and that counted as a win in his books. He took the time of the walk to check the man out.

He was tall, and his body was slim, so it made him look even taller. He was dressed in sport shorts and a loose tank top, showing off the lean muscles in his arms and legs, and was wearing running shoes. Tony noticed, with approval, that he still managed to look like he belonged in the pages of a fashion magazine regardless. The man was pale, but time under the sun had colored his shoulders and face a faint pink, and he had light brown hair which looked like caramel in the sunlight. He also had the cutest little moustache and goatee combo going on.

The few men he'd been with had all been clean shaven, Tony's brain helpfully supplied, and now Tony was picturing what it would be like to kiss a man with facial hair, what it would feel like brushing against his neck and chest ad he kissed a trail down Tony's body, what it would feel like against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh as the man sucked a mark there...

Tony saw the man had stopped playing with the dog and was now waiting for him to finish coming closer, and he blushed. Now he could see the man's eyes, framed by horn-rimmed glasses: hazel, and they looked light brown in the sunlight. His heartbeat picked up and his mouth was dry.

Tony licked his lips before talking. "Nice dog, always wanted one as a kid." '_Smooth, Tony_,' he congratulated himself. "Hi, I'm Tony." He extended a hand for the man.

The man grinned easily, warmly, and took his hand in a firm, warm shake. "Hi Tony, I'm Mark. And Mouse isn't mine, sadly," he reached down to pet the dog, "he belongs to a friend, neighbor, who is sick and can't take him to play catch, can he, Mouse?"

To Tony's amusement, Mark descended into baby talk, cooing at his as he butted his head under his hand, begging for some petting. His tail was wagging so hard against Tony's legs that he was sure he would have bruises come night. "Do you think I could join your game?" he asked.

Mark looked up at him considering, and then turned to the dog. "Hey, what do you think, Mouse, wanna play catch with Tony here?" He patted his head and righted himself, looking at Tony. "I don't think he has a problem with it," he said, grinning crookedly at Tony, and handed him the plastic disc.

Returning his grin, feeling lighter than he had felt in months, Tony took a couple steps back and threw the Frisbee hard, letting it fly. Mouse ran after it happily, and jumped to catch it high in the air. She ran back and offered it to Mark, who laughed and threw it again, this time at Tony. Tony, unprepared, had to scramble to catch it, and Mouse jumped on him and fought him for it.

They played like this for some time, laughing and carefree, the dog running between them wildly, until Tony started feeling his age and his current fitness level, and he stopped to drop down on the grass and pant like he had just finished a marathon.

"Woo," he exhaled, letting his upper body drop back until he was lying down. Between the fuck in the coffee shop and this, he hadn't done this much exercise in years!

Mark sat beside him, facing him, and the lowering sun painted his flushed skin with a healthy glow. Tony couldn't look away, and found himself propping up his upper body with his arms and sitting to get a closer look. Mark's hazel eyes looked almost green now, in the more reddish light, and Tony reached out to cup his face, bringing him closer.

"Forgive me if I'm reading this wrong," he said, and leaned forward to kiss Mark, but the man turned his head away and Tony's lips landed on his cheek. He pulled back, abashed. "Sorry," he muttered, and started taking his hand away.

But Mark caught it and, biting his lower lip uncertainly, brought it back to his face and laid his hand over it, keeping it there. "I don't like kisses," he explained at last, looking into Tony's eyes briefly, shyly.

"Okay," Tony said, stroking Mark's sharp cheekbone with his thumb, and leaning close again, this time purposely kissing his cheek and running the tip of his nose along it, nuzzling Mark's face.

Suddenly, someone shoved him from the side and he lost his balance, falling back with an _oof!_ Mouse had pushed him inadvertently. He had sat next to them and leaned on Tony quite suddenly, making him fall, and now that he was at his mercy, he planted his front paws on his chest and started licking his face with abandon.

"Ha-ha, Mouse! Let me go!" Tony laughed, pushing ineffectively at his snout, trying to dislodge him.

Mark helped him by pushing his off, calling, "Off, you monstrous fiend!" as he did.

"Oh, my savior," Tony deadpanned when they finally managed to dislodge his and Mark pulled him to a stand. He dusted himself of and caught sight of his watch. "Oh, fuckity shit fuck," he said, paling. How was it six thirty in the afternoon already?

"Something wrong?" Mark asked, holding Mouse back by the collar.

"Yeah, I completely missed a meeting. And I have a business dinner in about an hour." He grimaced. He would much rather stay with Mark, should the man be agreeable, than go have dinner with _Marcone_. Ugh.

Mark looked at him and his disgusted grimace. "Can't stand the company, huh?"

Tony shook his head.

Then, with no warning or apparent reason, Mark looked extremely coy, his eyes shifting to Tony and away from him, shaking his head to himself.

"What is it?"

Mark seemed to finish the argument in his head and looked sideways at Tony, licking his lips nervously. "How about taking a plus one?"

Tony's eyes widened as he considered this possibility and his lips spread in a wide smile. "We're going somewhere called Spiaggia. You know it?"

Tony saw a flash of recognition in Mark's eyes. "I know it. I'll be there," he answered quietly, something weird going on in his expression. Like it was hard now, cold. Whatever it was, it passed soon, and Mark asked warmly, "Do you need me to flag you a cab?"

"Tony Stark, in a cab? I'd rather die!" he answered dramatically.

Mark let out a bark of laughter and was overtaken by chuckles. Well, Tony had been expecting him to laugh, but his reaction was way out of proportion. "What is it? What's so funny?" he asked, curious, wanting in on the joke.

Instead of answering, Mark descended into a second fit chuckles, and covered his mouth with his fist to try to keep them at bay. He shook his head, smiling widely at Tony when he calmed down, and said, "Nothing, really. Do you have your car nearby?"

A bit out of sorts that Mark wasn't sharing the joke, Tony answered, "No, my driver thinks I'm still at the meeting with Marcone." He didn't miss the cold, stony poker face that came over Mark's features at the name. "Can you lend me your phone? Need to call him."

Mark looked at him warily and took out his cell. "Tell me the number," he said, instead of giving the device to Tony, and typed in the number Tony rattled off from memory. Only after pressing call did he hand it over.

Tony raised an eyebrow, noting the "*67" Mark had added at the beginning of the number with curiosity. Why was he so reluctant to let Tony know his number, if only indirectly from Happy's caller id? But Happy's voice on the other side cut him off from his musings. He gave the man directions to the park and returned the phone to its rightful owner. "See you at seven thirty, then?" he asked, just to be sure.

"Yep," Mark answered, putting the leash on Mouse, "See you there. Bye." He bent his head to grave Tony with a kiss on the cheek—he had been right, facial hair tickled—and walked away, dragging Mouse along, looking back only once to smile at Tony.

'_I'm doomed_,' thought Tony, watching him go, staring at his pretty ass.

* * *

The Spiaggia was exactly the kind of restaurant Tony would have picked, and it galled him that Marcone shared his tastes. He arrived about ten minutes late, both because he needed the time and because he wanted to show Marcone he didn't care at all whether Tony was making wait or not.

The joke was on him, however. It turned out Pepper had scheduled the dinner at eight, and had told him to come at seven thirty knowing his habits—and as a way of punishment for skipping the meeting earlier that day—so now he had about fifteen minutes to wait. At least the table was ready.

He sat, ordered the most expensive wine on the menu, not caring what it was, and started playing chess with Jarvis to pass the time. When the maitre d' came to ask if everything was to his liking, Tony requested another place be set up. The maitre d', probably thanks to years of practice, managed not to show annoyance, and simply smiled and said it would be done.

He was about to lose spectacularly when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned on his seat and looked up. He swallowed.

Mark was wearing a suit. A beautiful three piece suit and a silk scarf in tones of grey and green that made him look edible. And he had changed his glasses from horn-rimmed to round, wire ones, colored a dull grey that brought out his eyes.

Tony blinked, speechless, and gestured to the seat next to him vaguely.

Smiling, Mark sat. "Long time no see," he joked.

"Mark, you've no idea how much I've missed you," Tony answered, putting all sorts of longing into his voice, going along with the joke. "I thought I'd never see your again!" He laid his hand on the table.

Mark took it, the corner of his eyes crinkled behind his glasses. "But now I we've found each other again! Oh, joyful day!" he crowed, acting like a simpering woman in a chick-flick.

Then they made the mistake of sharing a look. The sheer mirth in their eyes set the other off; soon they were both laughing like loons, making everyone around them turn to look at them.

"Having fun, Mr. Stark?" came the suave voice of Marcone, ruining both Tony's evening and his appetite.

"Hello, boss," Mark with a little wave.

Tony looked between them, gaping. _What?_

Marcone's left eyebrow twitched and he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair in frustration. "Lloyd. I thought you had requested to have a free day today?" he asked, money-green eyes boring into Tony's date.

"You _work_ for him?!" Tony asked in outrage, pointing at Marcone.

"Yes, I do," Mark—Lloyd?—told Tony, and then turned to Marcone. "I'm not here in official capacity—Mr. Stark invited me. Why don't you sit, _boss_?" he ordered, because Tony would be damned if that could be considered a request or an invitation in any sense.

Marcone did, gingerly, like he expected something to blow up at any moment. "And how did you meet Mr. Stark, Lloyd?" he asked, putting on the best poker face Tony had ever seen—yes, counting his own—and waving the maître closer.

Tony had had enough. "Excuse you, _Mr. Stark_ is right here, you can ask him directly," he said in a miffed tone. "And we met in the park, thank you very much. He was walking a monster dog."

Marcone looked surprised. "Mouse?" he asked, and Tony had to wonder exactly how Marcone knew the name of the dog belonging to Mark's friend.

Mark nodded. "Yeah, Dresden is still recovering from whatever Mab did to him."

Marcone harrumphed. "Well then. Shall we order?"

They took their time perusing the menu and picking their food. Tony spotted Marcone's bodyguard, Hendricks, looming around and invited him to sit, surprising everyone else at the table. What? He _had_ manners, he just chose when to use them.

Weirdly, with Mark there to diffuse the tension—mainly by getting into philosophy debates with Hendricks and translating between Tony's spontaneity and Marcone's anal planning—Tony and Marcone got along famously, and managed to reach a deal to mount a arc reactor and get cheap energy, which was what Marcone had been badgering him about for the last two years.

And then, the conversation turned to Mark, despite—and Tony noticed this—all the efforts on Mark's part to change the subject.

"So, what exactly is your job?" Tony asked, suddenly extremely curious.

He saw Marcone and Mark exchanging a glance, before they both spoke at the same time.

"I'm his assistant."

"He's my consultant."

Tony looked at them with a raised eyebrow. "Ah-ha," he said, trailing off, and waited for them to elaborate.

They shared a look again, and Mark gestured at Marcone to speak deferentially.

"As Hendricks is my bodyguard from normal threats," Marcone started in the patronizing tone Tony himself used on the board of directors when explaining a new invention, knowing they would not_ get it,_ "Mark here protects me from those magical and supernatural in nature. He usually follows me along, like Hendricks."

Tony nodded. "Ah, I see now. Yeah, the Avengers have one of those, um..." he tried to remember the guy's name, and snapped his fingers when he found the answer. "Ah! Yes, Strange, that's his name."

He saw the recognition and uncertainty in Mark's eyes. "The Sorcerer Supreme," Mark said, glancing at his boss and then whispered something in his ear. Tony tried not to wonder if they were sleeping together.

So he changed the subject a bit. "So, you have magic?"

"Not really, I don't," Mark said, "I just do it." He shrugged. "Magic is produced naturally, you see, by everything. I have a curse on me, so I can't actually create magic like I used to." He looked forlorn for a moment, and when he continued, his voice was subdued. "I just direct energies through circles and rituals, and I can still do potions, so yeah." He shrugged.

Tony felt a lot of pity for him. He couldn't understand what it felt like, but he imagined it would feel akin to suddenly being told he could never build anything again, that he could design it and invent it. but someone else would make it happen. He shivered despite the warm weather, and blamed it on the ice-cream he was having for desert.

Then Hendricks' cell went off, and he looked urgently at John Marcone. "Boss," he said simply.

Marcone nodded, his eyes sharp, and turned to Tony. "So, business is concluded, then, Mr. Stark?"

Tony smiled and extended his hand, "Yeah. We are in agreement. By the way, you are not the square jerk I thought you to be. Some take the stick out of your ass lately?"

"You could say that," John answered, taking Tony's hand in a firm grip. "I must say, you are not the unruly boor I had taken you for."

"Do you want me to come?" asked Mark, also standing, looking urgently between Tony and his boss.

John seemed to think about it and, getting a mischievous glint in his eye, said, "No need. I have Gard on call, and Hendricks' assures me the problem is strictly vanilla in nature. Have a good night."

"Yeah," Mark sounded annoyed, "I'll try."

Marcone left with one last smug smirk, taking the redheaded gorilla he had for a bodyguard with him.

Tony turned towards Mark, a predatory glint in his eyes. "So..."

The man huffed, half- amused and half-exasperated. "Yeah, okay," he rolled his eyes. "Will your driver take us? Do we need anything?"

Cheering wildly in his head, Tony tried to think of an answer to that question what didn't involve him tackling Mark to the floor and having him under the table of one of the most expensive restaurants in Chicago. "Nah, always carry_ essentials_ on me, and I have extra in my suitcase."

Mark grinned crookedly at him again, and fuck if Tony wasn't falling in love a little with that boy-next-door look. He offered his hand to Tony, palm up. "Lead the way, then."

Tony took it and led him out, smiling himself.

The ride to Tony's hotel room was short, only about twenty minutes, and Tony managed to keep his hands to himself—even if not his eyes—and talk with his companion during the whole trip. Well, it helped that Mark had no interest in kissing, which was how Tony usually started, but he managed to sneak a grope to Mark's crotch and a kiss to his neck, both of which Mark received good-naturedly.

He found out, in no particular order, that Mark's real name was Marcus Lloyd, that he had been living in Chicago about six or seven months, that he was thirtyone years old and that his family was originally from Norway. He had come to the US after a particularly bad fight with his dad—they spent some time commiserating over their respective fathers—and brother, intent on making a new life. Tony listened raptly, drinking in every word and squeezing Mark's hand—which he was still holding, and didn't that make him feel like a pre-teen all over again?—reassuringly.

At last they arrived, and Tony kicked off his shoes as soon as he could. He had been in the mood for casual sex earlier, before the chat in the car, but he changed his mind and went for romantic, putting on some music, low and melodic. He led Mark, also barefoot, around the suite, giving him the grand tour.

"So, what do you think? Straight to bed, or shall we try out the Jacuzzi first?" Tony asked, his hands resting on Mark's hips.

His eyes crinkling at the corners, Mark cupped Tony's face in his hands and leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead, his lips resting there. "Jacuzzi sounds nice, but I'm beat from playing with Mouse. I could fall asleep. Maybe in another day?"

Aw. Tony would miss out on seeing Mark dripping wet and flushed with heat, playing with bubbles. He didn't know how to feel about the fact that Mark was expecting to stay the night, so he decided to reserve judgment on that for the time being.

So he leaned forward and closed his lips over a fold of Mark's skin, right under his Adam's apple, and sucked a mark into it. He kissed a trail up the man's neck, ending at the earlobe, which he sucked on gently. "Bed, then?" he whispered into Mark's ear seductively.

"Bed," Mark concurred, running his hands down Tony's body as he pulled away, walking towards the bedroom with a sway to his hips that drove Tony crazy.

Tony followed him, undoing his shirt while his eyes hungrily took in Mark. The man was a work of art, truly, especially dressed in a suit like he was, a suit that hugged him in all the right places and streamlined his silhouette, making him even more masculine and edible.

Unable to help himself, Tony curled his arms around Mark from behind and held him close, feeling the warm, solid body, the muscles shifting underneath his arms through the thin fabric of the shirt and vest. He kissed Mark's back right between the shoulder blades, pressing his face against the spot, breathing Mark in – he smelled like Luke, and that made Tony's cock jump in his pants.

He knew it was unfair to Mark, to think of him as a substitute Luke, one more approachable and friendly, more carefree, even though they both smelled the same and shared an aversion to kissing, but he didn't care. As he unbuttoned Mark's waistcoat and shirt, the jacket and scarf long gone the way of the shoes, he could only think of Luke, of his dominance, his strength, as if afraid to show his softer, vulnerable side, and compare Mark to him.

He kissed Mark's shoulder when he peeled off the shirt to reveal it, and showered all the skin he could reach with kisses and tiny bites. Mark wasn't idle; he undid both his and Tony's trousers, letting them fall to the ground with a little help. When Tony finished removing Mark's shirt—finished peeling it off inch by inch—Mark turned around in Tony's embrace and locked eyes with him, showing Tony his dilated pupils and the spark of desire in them, and seeing Tony's own.

"Can't you reconsider the kissing thing?" Tony found himself asking, wanting very much to taste him as deeply as possible.

Mark smiled and, quick as a snake, pecked him on the lips, giggling. That a man who was Marcone's magical bodyguard would giggle blew Tony's mind. "Maybe," the man answered coyly, "what do I get in return?"

Tony thought about it. "You can top?" he offered. It was the maximum sacrifice for him, bottoming. He had done it for Luke, and only once before – drunk, in college, with a guy four years older than him who hadn't cared about his comfort.

Mark seemed to understand, going by the ways his eyes widened. "I'd love to, but only if you are really comfortable with it."

And yeah, Tony had to admit he was. If Mark turned out to be a raging, uncaring psycho, then he was an incredibly good actor. Tony has seen the way he had played with that monster dog, the way he had spoken to it as though it were a real person. The way he had looked at Tony, all soft around the edges. "Then come here and kiss me," he said, cupping a hand behind his neck and pulling him down.

Mark's lips were soft, and Tony matched the softness. Instead of licking Mark's mouth open and plundering it, he started out by layering chaste kisses one over the other, kissing Mark's lips over and over again. Only when he started kissing back did Tony's tongue venture out; tiny, short licks that turned into kisses, all along Mark's bottom lip, and then licks all across the seam, tempting him to open his mouth.

Oh, he opened it alright. He had to, when he caught Tony's nose between his teeth playfully.

"Ow," Tony complained good-naturedly, poking Mark in the side. Mark let his nose go. "You really don't like kissing, huh?" he asked.

Mark shrugged. "It's pleasant enough, the way you do it," he smiled, not really answering the question, and leaned down to catch Tony's bottom lip between his, sucking on it.

Tony retaliated by groaning loudly, surprised, and running his hands down Mark's back and grabbing two fistfuls of buttocks, pulling their hips together. He sucked on Mark's upper lip, rolling their hips into a rhythm, and swallowing Mark's sweet, tiny moan of pleasure.

Thus released, Tony snuck his tongue into Mark's mouth and took it back out, slowly running it along the roof. He stepped away, panting, and took off his open shirt and his undershirt, flooding the space around them in the eerie pale light of the reactor.

He could see Mark was curious about it. He was right.

"What _is_ that?" Mark asked, fascinated, and raised his hand as if to tap on it, drawn in like a moth to a flame.

Tony grabbed Mark's wrist by reflex, and then, reconsidering, used it to press the hand flat over the protective casing. "It's okay, you can touch. Just don't take it out or I die," he smiled, thumb rubbing circles into the soft flesh of Mark's wrist. "It's kinda like a pacemaker – keeps my heart beating."

Mark ran his fingers reverently over it. "Wow," he breathed. "Did you make it yourself?"

Water, darkness, pain, Yinsen standing over him, weapons laying in pieces around him. Tony blinked to wash his eyes off the images of his sting as a hostage. "Yeah," he answered simply. He could have added 'in a cave, using scraps,' but refrained.

Mark kissed his temple. "I can tell there's a painful story behind that, but I won't ask about it."

And he didn't. Instead, he cradled Tony close and... hugged him? Tony, confused, wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his face in Mark's skin, inhaling—he really did smell like Luke.

Then Mark picked him up, exhaling with great effort, and Tony, disoriented, reacted by instinct and clung to him, winding his legs around Mark's hips. He laughed as Mark waded over to the bed and dropped him there. Well, more like allowed Tony to slide down his body, taking Mark's underwear with him as he tried to cling to anything he could.

"Careful," Mark hissed – his cock was still trapped in the underwear, bent uncomfortably. He reached inside to free it completely, and—

Tone _knew_ that cock.

And then barrage of seemingly unconnected details flew right into his head.

The smell. The aversion to kissing. The way he had laughed at Tony's quip about cabs. '_He went to Illinois.'_ Chicago was in Illinois. Mafia connections. Marcone. Magic consultant. Luke's magic book.

"Luke," he breathed, eyes instantly going to Mark's—Luke's?!—face. He gaped at him, hand hovering halfway to his face as if wanting to check if this was really real but holding back because _it couldn't._

And then, Mark said the impossible. "Figures you would recognise my cock," he spoke, shaking his head in exasperation, and that was _Luke's_ voice, his odd not-quite-British accent.

"Holy _fuck_," Tony managed, experiencing something akin to a blue screen of death, taking his hand back as if burnt. His heart was beating overtime. '_LukeLukeLuke,_' was all he could process at the moment.

"Tony, you alright?" Mark—_Luke _wondered, kneeling between Tony's unresponsive knees and cupping his face in both hands, looking him straight in the eye. "I really thought you already knew and were just playing along—"

Tony cut him off by enveloping him in a crushing hug, overwhelmed, tucking his face in the crook of Luke's—_Luke's!_—neck, inhaling, running his hands all over his skin, reassuring himself that this was _real_. "I thought I would never see you again!" he babbled, muffled by Luke's skin.

He distantly heard the amused huff ruffling his hair, he distantly felt Luke's hands settling hesitantly on his waist. "You _wanted_ to see me again?" Luke stammered, the fingers on Tony's waist twitching.

Tony took one last deep breath, inhaling the smell of his skin, and looked up. Luke looked uncertain, his mouth a bit open as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what, his eyes flitting all over except Tony's own. So Tony answered the only way he could: carding his hand into Luke's hair and bringing his face down into a hard, bruising kiss.

"I did," he confessed afterwards in a whisper against Luke's lips—_Luke! _He still couldn't quite believe it. "Came looking for you. Jimmy said you had skipped town."

Luke's eyes softened, though whether at Tony's confession or the mention of Jimmy, Tony wasn't sure. "That romantic idiot," Luke muttered affectionately—well, that answered the question— and added, "He was supposed to tell everyone who came asking I was dead, but I guess the moron wanted you to find me."

Tony shrugged, not knowing how to answer that, and snatched Luke's glasses off. "Guess you don't need these, after all," he explained, folding them and setting them on the bedside table. "You wearing colored contacts again? Also, I could have sworn you were a redhead." He glanced pointedly at Luke's crotch, signifying the pubic hair, which had been dark red before and was now dark brown.

Luke grinned proudly at him. "Did you think I would forget to match the carpet with the drapes? I also dyed my beard and eyebrows." He pointed at his eyebrows as if showing off the color.

Tony laughed, feeling light-hearted. "The beard changes your face a lot. I knew there was something about you," Tony smiled, "I just couldn't tell what."

"I admit it was very amusing to see how long I could hide." Shrugging, he reached into pants' pocket and withdrew the contacts' case. He took the contacts off with the ease of long practice, said, "There's no need for these now, is there?" and tossed the case back in the general direction of his pants.

Then he ran his absinthe-green eyes up and down Tony's body, biting his lip, and Tony practically felt the gaze like a hand touching him in all the right places. He took off his underwear and scooted back on the bed, leaving room for Luke, and made grabby hands at him.

The man smirked wickedly and walked predatorily up to the bed, and then he _crawled _onto it and over to Tony with the grace of a panther. "No more kissing now," he commanded, crouched over him, tapping a finger on Tony's lips.

For all answer, Tony arched a brow, silently accepting the challenge, and sucked Luke's finger into his mouth, curling his tongue around it. Luke's eyes narrowed in pleasure, and Tony sucked on it to see if he could made him moan.

He couldn't, but it earned him a pleased sigh. Eyes half-lidded, Luke told him, "I think I'd like you to ride me."

'_Yes. Fuck yes!_' Tony thought, imagining it, picturing the pleasure of moving at his own pace, impaling himself on Luke's perfect cock. But he knew better than to accept so easily—he remembered the way Mark had led his and Marcone's conversation around like a puppy on a leash until they reached an agreement on a deal _Mark_ proposed—so what he said was: "I think I'd like you to blow me." He even matched Luke's almost whimsical but mostly mischievous tony.

This seemed to impress Luke, going by the quirk of his eyebrow. If that didn't say '_I'm strangely aroused by this,_' then Tony would eat his underwear. "You appear to have learnt how to haggle since I last saw you," Luke approved. He sat up in Tony's lap, carefully making it so his cock laid next to Tony's and their balls touched, crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his chin thoughtfully, making a show of considering the counteroffer. "Very well then," he said at last, his eyes piercing Tony like a pin does a bug in an entomologist's collection, "I believe I shall agree to that offer."

He had exaggerated his odd accent, knowing what it did to Tony, how much it turned him on.

But Tony pretended it didn't, simply pointing down at his crotch and saying cheerfully, "C'mon, get to it! Chop, chop!"

Luke arched a sarcastic eyebrow at him, his green eyes gleaming dangerously, and slithered down his body like a damned snake, rubbing his stomach and chest on Tony's cock, before planting his hands on Tony's knees and brusquely parting them and settling in the middle.

Tony decided to be helpful and curled a hand around the base of his cock, pointing it at Luke's mouth. Luke regarded him condescendingly and, without saying anything, took Tony's hand from around his cock and placed it behind in his hair. Looking at Tony through hooded eyes, he waited a few heartbeats after letting Tony's hand go to make sure he had received the message—and had Tony ever!—then curled his own hand around Tony's cock and held it still as he lowered his head to mouth at the base, sucking a hickey there.

* * *

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* * *

He panted, wrecked, trying to catching his breath, caressing Luke's hair tenderly. He shivered in an aftershock when Luke pulled his head back with one last suckle and rested it on Tony's leg, scratching his now oversensitive skin with his little beard. Tony ran his hand through Luke's hair almost lovingly, and raised his head to watch him with half-lidded eyes at the soft sigh this produced.

"Enjoyed yourself, did you?" the man enquired in an almost bored, raising himself on all fours and crawling over Tony, covering him in shadows cast by the overhead light. His lips looked red and _used_, and Tony wanted to kiss them. "Want to taste yourself on my tongue?" Luke offered, licking quickly at the seam of Tony's lips, tempting him.

Tony felt like he had just been offered to trade his soul by the Devil. Why did it feel so good?

"How are you even _real_," he wondered, fumbling with one hand to pull Luke's head down. He opened his mouth gladly, and twined his tongue around Luke's, drawing it into his mouth to suck on it. He did taste coconut, surprisingly, among the usual salty-and-bitter taste, and he decided he liked the combination, if it came with added Luke flavor.

Luke bit Tony's lips, prompting him to let go. "Aren't you forgetting something?" He sounded more amused than expectant, really, but Tony knew what he was really asking.

"I'm not," he reassured Luke, stroking his back with the edge of his fingernails, "I'm just tired. Playing with Mouse killed me dead." He yawned, turning his head away from Luke's face so as not to blow all the hot air smelling of his breath at him, and blinked sleepily. "Can I ride you tomorrow?"

Luke seemed incredibly irked, understandably. His mouth twitched to the side in displeasure. "You are assuming I'm going to stay," he warned, moving to lay on his back beside Tony. "Why should I, when you would leave me like this?" he asked, indicating his still raging hard cock with a vague motion.

Tony blinked again, his eyelids feeling like lead. "I know, I'm sorry. You were wonderful," he mumbled sleepily. "Feel free to hump me?" he offered, grinning.

Luke's eyes narrowed dangerously and he bared his teeth. Tony's heart skipped a beat for all the wrong reasons. "_Hump_ you, like a common _animal_?" Luke cried in outrage, reaching out to pinch one of Tony's nipples and twist it—hard.

"Ow, ow, fuck, okay!" Tony shouted, batting Luke's hand away, getting angry as well. "Okay, damn it. What do you want, a blowjob? Handjob?"

Luke merely glared at him.

"Fuck, I _know_ I said I would ride you!" Tony sat up, annoyed. "And I will! Just not now, for fuck's sake! I'm tired here—riding you will kill me, I swear!"

Averting his gaze, Luke seemed to deflate. "Okay," he said, subdued. "Maybe a handjob, so I don't die of blue balls." He looked at Tony, apologetic. "At least you didn't fall asleep on me, this time," he teased, good-naturedly.

Tony almost believed him. '_Playing the pitiful card much?_' "Pass me the lube in the drawer. I'll give you the handjob of your life," he said, determined. He wasn't so sleepy anymore, but his muscles, especially those of his hips and back, were complaining when he moved them.

Amused, Luke did as asked, handing Tony the lube. "Thank you," he whispered sincerely, and looked for all the world like a boy waiting in line to receive some candy.

Adorable. It wasn't a word Tony would have associated with Luke, before, but there you have it. He shifted to Luke's side, pasting himself along it, and laid his head of the crook of Luke's shoulder, hearing his still racing heartbeat. Tony's head was lifted with each breath Luke took. He got the sudden urge to lick Luke's nipple, so he bowed his head a little on his chest and did so, earning a gasp he heard very clearly and a hand in his hair.

Flipping open the cap of the lube, he simply upended it over Luke's cock and squirted out a generous amount, making Luke hiss and clench his hand tighter in Tony's hair. The gel started liquefying instantly, sliding down Luke's gorgeous cock, which was flushed red and dripping precum. Tony snapped the cap closed against Luke's flat stomach and left the tube there for easy reach, before using his hand to gather up the fallen gel and sliding it around Luke's cock.

He latched onto Luke's nipple, suckling at it obscenely, as he started jerking him off at a hard, punishing pace. Suddenly, Luke's hand was in his wrist, and he froze.

"Go slower, Tony," he felt more than hear reverberating in the chest under his ear. "If I wanted fast and hard I'd do it myself, don't you think?"

And then Luke used the hold on Tony's wrist to move his hand at a slow, dragging, almost worshipping pace, when Tony started following it on his own, he let his hand drop—and his head, Tony could feel the tension in the muscles under his head shifting—with a happy sigh.

"Ohhh, like that, mmm," Luke groaned, and Tony knew that he was being extra vocal for Tony's benefit. He also rubbed the tips of his fingers encouragingly around in Tony's scalp, making _him_ sigh in pleasure.

* * *

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* * *

Luke slapped Tony's hand away.

"Okay, okay, too much, got it," Tony smiled into Luke's chest, speaking condescendingly.

Luke pulled on Tony's hair sharply. "Don't mock me, Tony," he warned, and then soothed the hurt in Tony's scalp. "Also, that was the lousiest handjob I've ever had," he added, and Tony could hear the smile in his voice.

"Uh-huh, whatever you say, Ron Jeremy," Tony teased, pushing his head up until his cheek slotted on the soft, fleshy bit between Luke's pectoral and shoulder, looking up at him, hesitantly. Tony didn't usually do second helpings, so he didn't know the protocol – should he ask Luke to stay or kick him out? What did it mean that he had stayed the night the last time they had been together, if it hadn't really been his choice?

Luke smiled at him, eyes soft around the edges, and leaned up to kiss Tony's forehead, tickling it with his beard, his lips lingering there. "I think I'll stay," he spoke, lips brushing Tony's skin, as if reading his mind. Then, when Tony blushed and said nothing, he took advantage of his apparent knowledge of Marcone's hotels and stretched and turned off the lights—the swtich for the lights of the entire room were within arm's reach of the bed—setting the tube of lube on the top of the bedside table.

Once they were plunged into darkness—or as close as they could manage with Tony's built-in nightlight shining like a beacon—he felt Luke relax back into bed. "Goodnight," he muttered, muffled against Luke's soft skin, not really knowing what else to say.

Luke laughed and ran his free hand—the one whose arm Tony wasn't laying on—down Tony's sweaty back, petting him gently several times. The repetitive motions lulled him to sleep, and the last thing he was aware of before the Sandman took him were the words "Goodnight, Tony," spoken softly into his hair.

* * *

Tony woke up after a nightmare about Loki which, though he had the faint idea it involved him, wearing the Iron Man suit, being ridden by Loki like some flying motorcycle. His head moved though no action of his own, and the recalled he had fallen asleep on Luke. The sun was barely up, he could see the sky was still red through the closest window.

He tried to go back to sleep, but the unfamiliar feeling of a body—warmth, the sound of breathing, movement with each breath—distracted him again and again, making it impossible. Resigned, he decided to give Luke the sexy wake-up call he had promised him, and ride him into oblivion.

But then, when he lifted his head to check if Luke was indeed still asleep and not just playing possum, his stomach growled long and loud. The noise made Luke stir, only a little, just turn his head and wrinkle his nose cutely. Tony smiled, smitten – he had been right, all those months ago: he had ended up getting attached.

Fuck.

Using his hunger as an excuse—already making the speech in his head, in case Luke woke up when Tony was getting off the bed—he got up and got dressed as quietly as he could—which was really quiet when he wasn't hung over—left, grabbing his wallet.

The coffee shop from yesterday had had a little sign on the door with the business hours. It was about half past five in the morning, but that coffee shop was too far away to justify the trip as "getting breakfast". Instead he asked the bleary-eyed receptionist and she directed him to a nearby Starbucks.

Tony thanked her and left, yawning. It was only a block away and the streets were deserted, so he made it there in less than three minutes. Awesome.

He wasn't in the mood to tease the barista, preferring to brood about his life choices instead, so he ordered a latte with an extra shot of espresso. He didn't know what Luke would want, so he ordered a latte for him – no one disliked lattes. When he went to pay, however, he found that the wallet he had grabbed was Luke's, not his. They must have had the same routine: get home, take out wallet, keys and phone from pants and leave them close to the door. In the darkness, Tony must have snatched the wrong one.

Figuring he would pay Luke back later, he borrowed some money and paid for both drinks and two muffins. While he waited for his order to be done, he decided he might as well snoop, and started rifling through the wallet.

He found the usual. Credit cards, some urban transport card, a gym membership card (!), Luke's driver's license (he was born on the 21st of December, 1981) and some old pictures of him and Jimmy, setting up what looked to be the cupboards behind the bar in Ice and Fire... Oh, right, Luke had been clean-shaven then, and his hair bright copper-red.

It was amazing what a little change like hair color did to a man's face. Tony wondered what his natural hair color was. Blonde? Black? Ooh, black would look _great_ on Luke, what with the contrast with his almost translucent pale skin. He pictured it in his head, Luke, clean-shaven, with black hair and his poison-green eyes and realized—

_Luke came to the US after a particularly bad fight with his dad. Luke did magic and worked for Marcone as a consultant on everything magical and supernatural. Norway. His odd accent. His otherworldly ability to talk his way out of things or talk anyone into anything. Jimmy, saying, "someone from his old life popped up and saw him, so he had to disappear." Luke had said, "with the life I lead, it wouldn't do for people to remember me."_

—Luke was Loki.

Tony's world tilted on its axis and blurred, and he had to grab onto the edge of the bar, knuckles white, to keep himself upright. His every thought, usually some seven or ten simultaneous trains, suddenly became a litany of '_Loki! Loki is here. I let him fuck me. Loki, shit, what? What the hell?_' and his chest felt tight, like it was contracting around the casing of the arc reactor.

He realized he was hyperventilating and tried to calm himself down, taking deep breaths. _'Okay, Stark,_' he told himself, '_chill the fuck out. So what if you slept with a mass murderer? You do that every time you masturbate._' He slapped himself softly, trying to get his brain to stop reeling. '_And you enjoyed every second of it, so stuff it. What do I do now?_'

Indeed, what _did _ he do now? Did he pretend nothing happened? Did he call SHIELD about the deity of Mischief and Lies disguising himself as a human and rubbing elbows with the mafia? Were they even still looking for him? Fuck. _Fuck_.

He got his phone out. "Jarvis, patch me over to Fury," he said, holding it in with his shoulder while he looked into the wallet.

* * *

Loki woke up in a cold bed at the sound of a door closing and the _flap_ of a cardkey being tossed onto a table. Stark must have gone out while he was sleeping – weird, he hadn't thought the man an early riser.

"Honey, I'm home!" came the man's voice from the living area. "And I brought breakfast with me!"

Loki smiled, smelling the coffee even from his spot on the bed—which still smelled of sex and Stark, and no, he hadn't buried his face in the sheets and inhaled deeply to check—and stretched. He hadn't slept so well in what felt like ages, ever since he had broken up with Jimmy and kicked him out because he started reminding Loki too strongly of Thor.

Stark had been oddly thoughtful to bring him breakfast, especially considering the last time they had been in this position, when the man had ran for the hills the second Loki had suggested it. '_Then again_', Loki smirked, '_he can't exactly run here; these are his rooms, after all._' So he got up at his leisure, stretching some more, and got his pants on, deciding against dressing because he was going to make Stark keep his end of the bargain and ride him soon.

Fallen god or not, Loki still fell prey to hunger, so he sleepily walked into the living area, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Stark was sitting on one of the sofas, the coffee cups resting on the decorative low glass table in front of him. Loki dropped ungracefully next to Tony and the man handed him a cup.

"Hope you like lattes," Stark asked and retreated his hand. He was sitting about ten centimetres away from Loki, looking uncomfortable.

Loki smirked and closed the space, getting into the man's personal bubble. "Many thanks," he murmured, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Don't," Stark said, evading him.

Loki laughed. So staying last night had been too much intimacy for playboy Tony Stark? "Are you breaking up with me?" he asked, affecting a clingy-teenager voice, smirking in good humour, and took the cup to his mouth, taking a sip. Almost immediately he spit it back out into the cup – discreetly, of course.

It was drugged.

'_Oh, no,_' he thought with dismay, '_he knows_.'

Stark laughed, oblivious to Loki's turmoil, and answered, "Of course not, baby," but his pathetic façade didn't fool Loki for one second. He could see the man's hesitation, his unease, the way his eyes flickered over the door and windows, as if looking for exits. The way he sat with his back straight and his legs under him, when usually he sprawled confidently, as if just waiting for the signal to explode into action.

Pasting a frown of distaste onto his face, Loki handed Tony back the coffee. "I'm lactose intolerant," he said as all explanation, his brain already working overtime for a way out of this situation. Had Stark already alerted the rest of the Avengers? '_Oh, don't be a fool. Of course he has,_' he told himself, trying to ignore the odd burning sensation in his chest.

Stark looked nervous for a split second, but managed to cover it up. "Bullshit. You piled a metric fuckton of cheese onto your pasta last night."

So he wasn't going to let it go, then. It felt like betrayal. Loki had got on his _knees_ for him, has allowed him so see him at his most vulnerable, had shown him everything that was important to him in this life, and the mortal, the _stupid, stupid_ mortal simply spat on it. Well, _fine. _'_If that's the way you want to play, Tony, let's play._'

"You are right," Loki said frostily, "I lied."

Before Stark could react, Loki jumped on him, pinning his arms against his hips with his knees, and tore open his shirt, baring the _pacemaker_. Of course Loki knew exactly what it was, he wasn't stupid. He grabbed and twisted the centrepiece, pulling it out, and kept pulling until the cables that connected it to the magnet in Stark's chest stretched taut.

"Don't!" Stark gasped, pale as a ghost, his voice broken and weak, his eyes bulging.

Loki, suddenly feeling weary, reached behind himself and got the coffee, tilting it into Stark's mouth. "Then drink." Stark shook but looked straight into Loki's eyes, a spark of defiance present in his gaze despite his shrunken pupils. "Whatever you put in this, I assume it's not lethal, so drink it."

The mortal's eyes crossed as he stared at the cup with trepidation, and his lips remained firmly shut.

"Oh, so you don't even know what they gave you to poison me with!" Loki laughed coldly, lording it over him, though inside he felt like he was crumbling into pieces. It could have killed Loki, for all Stark knew, and he didn't care at all? He took the cup to his own lips, free hand still pulling on the cables that went into Stark's chest, and sucked as much as he could hold into his mouth.

Then he tossed the cup away, uncaring, and used his hand to grip Stark's chin and force his mouth open. The mortal had wanted kisses? Well then, he would give him _kisses_. Loki crushed his lips against Stark's and spit the poisoned liquid into his mouth, letting go of the cables to clamp Stark's nose close.

Stark made a valiant effort of trying to spit or twist away from Loki's grip, but soon had to give into his need to breath and, resigned—Loki could feel the tension leaving his shoulders as he gave himself to his fate—he swallowed, eyes tearing up even as they bore into Loki's with hatred burning bright in them.

Once he was sure Stark had drunk all of it, Loki let him breath, and the human took the chance right away, gasping and heaving for breath urgently. "You—_asshole..._" he managed between pants.

Loki stared at him, impassive, though he was afraid his eyes belied his apathy. "You brought it upon yourself, Tony," he said, voice heavy but emotionless, "when you offered me poisoned food after I had been nothing but courteous to you."

Stark narrowed his eyes. "After you _invaded_ us, you mean? After you come back here and—and what, try to invade again? Vacation?" he snarled.

Loki calmly cupped his cheek and brushed his thumb along his skin. Stark, for some unfathomable reason, allowed him. "I'm serving my sentence for that crime. Odin turned me into a _monkey_ like you." He sneered at the way Stark's eyes widened. "What, you thought they let me off scot free? _Think again._"

Stark averted his gaze from Loki's, but tilted his face into Loki's touch. "Death," he huffed, "they sentenced you to death, but didn't deign to kill you." His mouth twitched briefly, though if it was in disgust, amusement or anything else, Loki couldn't tell.

He nodded, relaxing at the fact that Stark understood. "Death of old age, disease, or any of the other myriad ways to kill your fragile species," he grimaced, getting the arc reactor from where it hung back into Stark's chest, feeling him getting a bit out of it. "To supposedly teach me _compassion_, but I can tell they are hoping I'll die and be out of their hair for good." He smiled sadly and shifted his legs so that Stark would free his hands – which he did, only to settle them on Loki's waist.

Stark gave a small nod, almost to himself, before turning his gaze—soft, now; understanding—back to Loki's, locking them together. "The guy who gave me the powder said... would work in five minutes... SHIELD would come in to capture you in ten in case it took longer," he slurred, the drug clearly working.

Loki's eyes widened, as he wondered why Stark was telling him this, but the man continued before he could ask.

"I... take my wallet. I have... money there... use the credit cards too" he managed, his eyes closing of their own accord. "...Had Jarvis give them... you address... sorry." Loki could see he was struggling to keep awake and keep talking, but the drug, poison, whatever it was, was too much for him, and he nodded off.

Loki guided him down to a foetal position on the couch and bit his index finger until it bled. Using it as a brush, he scribbled a healing and protecting spell—nothing to complex, just a ward for good fortune—on Tony's forehead, and kissed it to activate it.

Then he burst into action and jumped to get dressed. He didn't bother with the spell to erase his biological imprint, for they had access to his home and they would have plenty there, and instead grabbed Tony's wallet—the man _had _offered, after all—and used his still bleeding finger on a mirror, opening a portal to the place where he had his emergency stash—a new identity, money, the tools of his craft—and went through it just as the men in black uniforms and guns started streaming in from the door and windows.

He remained long enough to know that they had attended to Tony and to give the commander a saucy little wave and a wink when the man spotted him and banged his fists against the mirror in frustration.

Time to phone Marcone and see if he would help Loki leave the country. Because clearly the American Dream wasn't built for Loki.

'_Anyway, Norway sounds nice, this time of the year,_' he thought, trying to cheer himself up.


End file.
